When musing sorrow weeps the past

Verse 1

When musing sorrow weeps the past, And mourns the present pain, How sweet to think of peace at last, And feel that death is gain!

Verse 2

'Tis not that mumuring thoughts arise, And dread a Father's will; 'Tis not that meek submission flies, And would not suffer still;

Verse 3

It is that heaven-taught faith surveys The path that leads to light, And longs her eagle plumes to raise, And lose herself in sight.

Verse 4

It is that hope with ardour glows To see Him face to face, Whose dying love no language knows Sufficient art to trace.

Verse 5

It is that tortur'd conscience feels The pangs of struggling sin; Sees, though afar, the Hand that heals, And ends her war within.

Verse 6

O let me wing my hallow'd flight From earth-born woe and care, And soar above these clouds of night My Saviour's bliss to share.